


Speechless

by days_of_storm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a fic I wrote for Sevnilock's drawing of Sherlock and John. (tinyurl.com/c6644c9)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sevnilock](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sevnilock).
  * Inspired by [Porn](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/158309) by Sevnilock. 



> This is a fic I wrote for Sevnilock's drawing of Sherlock and John. (tinyurl.com/c6644c9)

John had been mad at Sherlock for a week. More than three mugs had met their untimely end during some rather horrible experiments with frog intestines. The remains of both the mugs and the frogs had to be cleared away by John, as Sherlock had run off to do some other tests at Bart’s. When Sherlock had come home, he had pretended to not notice John looking at him angrily and he had disappeared as soon as John got ready for bed.

A few days and a number of passive aggressive notes on the kitchen table later, Sherlock had decided that it was a brilliant idea to make John happy by teasing the stubbornly unwilling man to the brink of orgasm. John was, in fact, quite happy until Sherlock took a call from Lestrade and ran off without finishing his business. For some reason, Sherlock had not understood why John grabbed his pillow and migrated to the couch that night when he came back from the Yard.

A few days later, Sherlock came out of the shower in only a towel, which fell as soon as he entered the living room. the towel remained on the floor as Sherlock moved to stand in front of John, who was doing a phone interview with a surgery. John didn’t get the job, because John hung up as soon as his utterly inconsiderate lover mentioned quite loudly that it had been a while since they had had sex.

John spent the remaining day outside, sulking on a bench in the park, hating that all of those things which annoyed him were also things which made him love Sherlock. Eventually he went to the pub, downing a pint of bitter before deciding to talk to Sherlock instead of being pissed off. Entering the dark flat, he wondered whether Sherlock had gone out to look for him; then he realized that Sherlock would have found him had he really tried. The mere fact that he hadn’t looked for him suddenly upset John.

He found Sherlock in the bathroom, tending to a cut on his leg. There was no point in asking, he knew. But there was a point in telling him off. So he grabbed his medical kit, which Sherlock had turned into a singlularly chaotic mess, stood up straight, and said, quietly but sternly: “enough.”

Sherlock seemed unsure of what to think, and when John didn’t elaborate, he dropped the roll of the plaster he had been using for the cut into John’s bag and asked, “enough of what?”

John’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he could see the moment Sherlock realized that he was in trouble. Instead of apologizing, Sherlock inhaled deeply and started to tell John of how he had tested a new scalpel, first on a chair, and then on his leg.

Somewhere inside John's head, alarm bells went off. Sherlock cutting himself for experimentation was not exactly something which went well together with his protective instinct of Sherlock. And yet, somehow it tipped the scale.

“Shut up, you _idiot_ ,” John ordered, causing Sherlock’s mouth to snap shut. For a few heartbeats. Then he decided that it might still be worth telling John about the angles which he had tried and what he had learned from it.

John dropped the kit, but he had taken out the plaster. “I told you to shut up.” With a swift move, he backed Sherlock against the wall and before he could say anything else, Sherlock’s mouth was plastered shut. Wide eyes stared into narrowed ones. John grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him out of the bathroom and out of the bedroom, confusing Sherlock visibly. He had clearly expected to end up on his bed.

Oh no, not this time. Not now. John let go when they reached the couch, causing Sherlock to stumble and fall down on it. With a growl he started to strip naked, watching Sherlock lie in a doubtlessly uncomfortable position on the couch. But Sherlock didn’t dare move.

John noticed too late that he should have grabbed the lube somehow on their way there, and he was sure he’d risk shaking Sherlock out of his astonishment if he moved now, but he knew that what he wanted to do to Sherlock – no, what he had to do to Sherlock – would not be accomplished without it.

“Don’t you dare move,” he said, pointing a finger at Sherlock’s face. He knew he was naked, and hard, and very close to ridiculing himself, but the look in Sherlock’s eyes and the flaring of his nostrils told him that he would indeed listen to him.

And yet, when he returned, Sherlock had taken off his underwear. He had only taken his trousers and socks off for his experiment, but the tight shorts were now on the floor next to the couch. He had started unbuttoning his shirt, but had not managed to be quick enough for John’s return. And now he was half naked, hard and flushed, his breathing faster yet than it had been and it took all John had to control himself.

“I told you not to move. You bastard.” Sherlock’s eyes flashed at the unfamiliar swear word and the tone of John’s voice.

He started to talk, but realized that he couldn’t. “Even now you can’t shut up,” John felt his frustration take over. He wanted Sherlock to quit being the smug bastard that he was and just do what _he_ wanted for once. But then again, Sherlock was pretty much already doing what he wanted. He was on his back, naked except for the shirt, and hard. And definitely not in the mood to physically contradict John.

“Fuck you,” John said, but it sounded much more like an endearment than the angry curse he had aimed for, which in turn, made him angry. He inhaled deeply and grabbed Sherlock’s legs, pushing him along the couch and his legs apart. With a practiced move, he flipped open the lube and, watching Sherlock’s eyes go wide, dribbled some on Sherlock’s arse and  testicles. The shock of the cold touch was soon forgotten when John climbed on the couch and positioned himself between Sherlock’s legs.

In a moment of boldness, Sherlock’s fingers moved to his chest and started working open the remaining buttons. John would have pushed his hands away, but he was certainly not going to sew the buttons back on that shirt. With a small angry sound he grabbed Sherlock’s wrists and pinned them to the couch, desperately fighting the urge to lean down and bite a newly exposed nipple.

“I’m so mad at you,” he started to explain, needing Sherlock to know why he was behaving the way he was. “I’m so mad and I need you so badly.”

He could see Sherlock struggling to breathe, little desperate sounds escaping his taped mouth, making John’s cock twitch. “Oh, good of you not to contradict me for once,” he bit his lip and grimaced as he pushed his cock along Sherlock’s, gliding easily against his skin. “It’s been too long.” Sherlock didn’t respond; he merely breathed in quick inhales and noisy exhales. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this,” John leaned down and kissed the tape, pushing his tongue against the slightly bitter surface. Then he let go of Sherlock’s right wrist and added more lube, pushing a finger inside. Sherlock squirmed and pressed his eyes closed.

“Oh, Sherlock. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you all day.” He probably did, but John didn’t want to think about whether or not Sherlock had hoped for some sort of similar outcome of his teasing.

Two fingers and Sherlock’s heels dug into the couch, pushing up, making John groan loudly and rock his hips a bit. The moan from below sounded almost panicked.

“Breathe,” he reminded Sherlock, speaking against his closed mouth. A grunt and another thrust and John pushed in a third finger.

Dark spots appeared on Sherlock’s shirt where sweat slowly seeped through the fabric. John let go of Sherlock’s other wrist and moved down, finally sucking and biting the exposed nipples, finding Sherlock’s hands in his hair. He gave himself a few seconds to enjoy the sensation; and then remembered that he was mad at Sherlock and that some proper angry sex was about to happen. With a sigh he lifted his head and looked at Sherlock. His neck was arched and his eyes closed tightly. It looked as if he would have to be careful as not to bring him too close to the edge too soon.

Taking a few seconds to give Sherlock the chance to calm down, he sat back on his heels and slicked up his cock. Sherlock was shaking underneath him and for a moment he wished he could hear the little gasps which undoubtedly would fill the air if it hadn’t been for the plaster.

“That’ll teach you to annoy me,” John murmured, leaning forward again, and slowly pushing against Sherlock’s heated flesh. Closing his own eyes for a moment, he pushed in, feeling the flutter of Sherlock’s heartbeat around himself. There was nothing he wouldn’t forgive Sherlock as long as he was privy to this experience. John bit his tongue to keep himself from uttering endearments as he pushed deeper and deeper yet, feeling the groan rather than hearing it when he hit the sweet spot.

There was only heat and the drum of his and Sherlock’s heartbeats for a few moments before John reminded himself yet again that this was not supposed to turn into considerate and sweet lovemaking. Oh no, this was supposed to be something entirely else. Exhaling quickly, John pushed all the way in, shoving Sherlock a good three inches up the couch in the process. He was rewarded with another grunt; this time a very audible one. Taking it as encouragement, he grabbed Sherlock’s legs and forced them over his shoulders. Then he leaned forward and settled in between his legs, both hands to the side of Sherlock’s chest.

When Sherlock’s hands came up to grab his hair, he shook his head and laughed quietly, taking hold of his wrists and pinning them back against the leather of the couch. Two seconds of calm, then he started to move. It couldn’t be comfortable for Sherlock; not at the speed he was going and not with the force he was using. But Sherlock didn’t fight back. He simply lay there, his cock neglected and leaking, flushed and begging for attention.

“God I love you like this!” John couldn’t help it. He knew that Sherlock knew that he wasn’t really truly mad at him; that he was mostly frustrated and had been in desperate need of a proper fuck for a long time.

John moved faster, pressing down on Sherlock’s wrists, finally getting him to fight back as the pressure cut off his circulation. Long fingers stretched and then balled into fists, the muscles in his arms and chest straining. John watched and enjoyed the show until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He felt Sherlock tighten his grip around him and suddenly Sherlock was coming, his head rolling back and forth against the sofa cushion, his chest heaving with desperate breaths. He spilled over his own belly, untouched. And John, John managed to hold on for just a few more seconds, making Sherlock squirm in aftershocks, sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat.

And then he had to let go. He pumped into Sherlock, riding out his own orgasm until he felt his strength give out and he collapsed on Sherlock.

He let go of Sherlock’s wrists, knowing he’d leave bruises, and wrapped his arms around him as well as he managed with no strength left. He felt Sherlock’s fingers in his hair, where they stroked and combed for a while, until he let go of him and started to fumble with the plaster.

John pushed himself up on his elbows and shook his head, pushing halfheartedly at Sherlock’s hand. “Oh no, that will stay on.” And at Sherlock’s disapproving frown he grinned sheepishly and added, “I’m just taking a break here and collecting myself. As soon as I feel mad at you again, I’ll be ready for another go.”


End file.
